Nothing to Say
by NewsiesSpot88
Summary: "Nothing to say? After EVERYTHING we've done, you have NOTHING TO SAY?"
1. Risky Business

**NOTHING TO SAY**

When Smecker called Connor and asked him to come over, Connor was a little apprehensive. A feeling that was accentuated when Smecker explicitly said, "without Murphy."

Connor couldn't remember the last time he went somewhere without Murphy, besides maybe the corner store – and even that was literally a thirty second walk.

But to go across town without his twin? Without even being allowed to tell his twin where he was going? That was scary.

So Connor left a note saying he went for a jog, and slipped out of the apartment before Murphy woke up.

Smecker was still in his pajamas – blue plaid silk ones – when Connor knocked.

"Connor!" Smecker said in surprise. "You're early!"

"Yea, Murphy wasn't up yet, so I left…" Connor shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Well, come in. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Beer?"

Now, that was tempting… "Uh… no thanks."

They sat down in the living room, Connor perched on the edge of the couch and Smecker lounging lazily back in a huge armchair.

"So, I assumed you're wondering why I asked you here…" Smecker began.

"Not at all, I was just admiring your décor," Connor said. He was kidding, but Smecker really did have impeccable taste in living room furniture.

Smecker chuckled. "Well, let's put on our serious pants here. Have you heard of Giuseppe Richardson?"

Connor nodded. "He was that crazy serial-killer-mobster guy a couple years back, right?"

"Yes, exactly. He went into hiding, something he's very good at, and now he's back. Two Boston cops have been killed trying to bring him in for the murders of three people in the last month."

"So, you want me and Murphy to take him out? We can do that."

Smecker shook his head. "It's not that simple. You think we want to send our two most valuable assets to certain death? No. But I do have an idea to run by you…"

So Smecker explained his plan, by the end of which Connor was just staring wide-eyed.

"But… that's insane. Something could go wrong. One of us could _die_," Connor said blankly. "I mean… this is our…. my life at stake."

Smecker raised an eyebrow. "Is that not always a hazard in your chosen occupation?"

Connor had absolutely no idea what to say. He had gotten into some crazy stuff before, but Smecker's plan was just…

"What do you say, Connor?"

After a long pause, Connor answered. "I'm in."


	2. Jeans

When Connor got back to the apartment, Murphy was awake. "Have a nice jog?" Murphy asked.

"Uh… yea," Connor said distractedly.

Murphy raised an eyebrow. "You went running in your jeans?"

"Oh, uh, my shorts were… dirty. I went for a walk instead. In the fens."

Murphy wasn't an idiot, he could tell as soon as Connor walked in that something was wrong. But he could also tell that this was one of those times when no amount of begging, or even alcohol, could get an answer out of his twin. So he said nothing.


	3. Take it Slow

The next morning, Connor had to somehow bring up the topic of Smecker's plan without alluding directly to the fact that Smecker actually had a plan. He settled with leaving the newspaper out, open on the Richardson article. And Murphy fell perfectly into place, picking up the paper and flipping it open. Connor waited.

"Hey, Con, have you seen this?" Murphy said. "This Richardson guy, wasn't he around, like, two, three years ago?"

Connor peered at the phtograph – Giuseppe Richardson was one scary looking thug. "Oh, yea… what's he in for?"

"Jesus Christ… seven murders this month."

"_Seven_?" Connor said incredulously. "No fucking way…"

"Aye, seven… what do you say we pay this mother fucker a visit?"

Connor saw the glint in Murphy's eye and knew his twin was hooked. "I dunno, Murph, maybe we should take this one slow…"

"Slow?" Murphy scoffed. "You're fucking with me. We take down mobsters for a living!"

"Aye, and last time we went too fast Rocco ended up dead!" Connor retorted.

He regretted the words as soon as they cam out. There was a long silence as both brothers felt a sharp pang in their chests.

"That's different," Murphy said quietly.

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to attend your funeral, too," Connor said moodily.

Murphy sighed. "Fine. So… taking it slow. How do you mean?"

Connor skimmed through the article. "Look, he's got two accomplices. We go for them first, then he's all by himself."

Murphy nodded. "Sounds like a plan."


	4. Just Go With It

The first two were easy, done in three days. Anyone else would have guessed, maybe it was _too_ easy, but that wasn't how Murphy thought. He just went with it, whatever, right up to that fourth day when they planned to take out Richardson. And Murphy was ready.

At least, he thought he was. It was supposed to be just the one guy, not a dozen odd other crazy serial-killer-mobster thugs, too. But that was okay, because Murphy thought he and Connor could handle just about anything.

The firefight was a blur – it really always was, from Murphy's perspective.

But suddenly, it was slow motion – Murphy dove behind a wall, just barely making it out of the way of a bullet.

But Connor wasn't quick enough.

And Murphy stopped just going with it, because it couldn't be real, because Connor couldn't get shot, he was too invincible for that.

And it couldn't be real, because Connor couldn't fall to the ground with a bullet in his stomach.

And it couldn't be real, because Murphy couldn't be holding Connor's head as he gasped for breath, with blood soaking his shirt.

And it couldn't be real, because Smecker couldn't be pulling Murphy away from the scene in retreat, leaving Connor motionless on the floor.

It couldn't be real, because Murphy just couldn't just go with it.


	5. The Fallen Saint

The day of Connor MacManus's funeral, it was a stiff, clear-skied, blindingly bright day, with absolutely no breeze to speak of. It was the kind of day Murphy hated.

From the view from the last pew in the church, the man whose face was shaded by the hat he wore thought it was a beautiful service. It really was – one could expect no less from a mass honoring a fallen saint.

The priest asked Murphy if he would like to speak for a moment, and the man in the hat perked up. This is what he had come for.

Murphy, in his usual seat in the first pew, looked up from his feet for the first time the whole service.

"I have nothing to say," he said shortly.

Had he been standing, the man in the hat would have fallen. Nothing to say? How could he have nothing to say? His twin dies, and _nothing_?

The man in the hat wondered how Connor was supposed to feel about that.


	6. Doubts

The only thing running through Murphy's head, like a broken record, was Connor's voice.

"_Well, excuse me for not wanting to attend your funeral, too."_

He barely heard anything anyone said, right up to when the priest asked him to speak.

He should've said something, he knew. It wasn't really that he had nothing to say – it was that he physically couldn't say it.

The whole thing was unreal to Murphy. Almost thirty years of spending almost every single second with Connor, and then he was gone, just like that, so quickly. It just wasn't fair.

After everyone left the church, Murphy lingered. He kneeled in fron t of the altar, looking up at Jesus Christ's open arms. He made sure he was alone before he started talking – he didn't want anybody, especially the priest, to hear his doubts.

"I don't understand, Lord… how could you do this?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, everything we have done, it's been for you. What on Earth does anybody gain by taking him away?"

Murphy choked on his words, fighting back tears, but more out of anger than anything.

"He didn't deserve this… it's a fucking nice time for a miracle right about now!" Murphy yelled at the statue.

He sat there for a long time, fuming, before he crossed himself and stormed out.


	7. Complicated

**In advance, I'm super super sorry for making this so short (it's not really a chapter, is it?) and putting that major cliff hanger there. **

The mood hadn't improved by the next morning at the cemetery. In fact, it rather looked like it was going to rain. The man in the hat squinted up at the sky. He rather hoped it wasn't going to rain – that would make matters that much more complicated.

He saw Murphy at the front, by the casket, still with his gaze fixed firmly downwards, showing no emotion whatsoever. It very nearly made the man in the hat want to leave.

A movement in the crowd of people snapped him back to attention and made him remember what he was doing. It was Giuseppe Richardson, having escaped the firefight with one goal in mind – kill Murphy MacManus.


	8. Firefight at the Funeral

As soon as Murphy saw Richardson, he knew he was a dead man.

_Perfect, fucking perfect_. That's _exactly_ what he needed – a firefight at his brother's funeral, the ONE TIME he wasn't carrying a gun.

Murphy dove behind a grave stone, praying an apology to the poor soul it belonged to. He heard shots ringing out, and then silence.

And then, the man in that hat was standing over him, pulling him to his feet. Giuseppe Richardson lay dead on the ground.

"Jesus Christ, man, thanks…" Murphy started to say. He looked up at the man in the hat, and his words trailed into nothing. He paled whiter than a ghost, and fainted.


	9. Coming To

He brought the unconscious Murphy to McGinty's, it was closest, and laid him out on a table, waiting for him to wake up.

It didn't take long. About twenty minutes later, Murphy flicked his eyes pen and sat up, rubbing his head. "Jesus Christ," he moaned. "I could've sworn I saw…" He caught sight of who was sitting in the chair next to him. His eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed in anger. "You son of a bitch!"

"Careful, Murph, that's your mother you're talking about," Connor said.

Connor was expecting the anger. He wasn't expecting Murphy to lunge at him, and he definitely was not expecting Murphy's fist to connect with his jaw. But, of course, Connor had to swing back.

"You fucking bastard," Murphy growled.

"Oh, you're mad now, are you? Really?" Connor snapped, spitting out blood.

Murphy shoved Connor angrily. "How the _fuck_ could you do that?"

"Fuck you, you couldn't care less at the funeral!" Connor spat. "Nothing to say? After EVERYTHING we've done, you have NOTHING TO SAY?"

"What the fuck do you care?"

"Jesus Christ, Murph, I _died_, and you had nothing to say!"

"But that's the thing, Connor! You didn't fucking die! You lied to me – you _more_ than lied to me! _How the fuck could you do this to me_?"

"It was just a plan to get Richardson!"

"Glad to see your need to be a vigilante is ahead of your fucking twin in your priorities," Murphy spat. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and threw it at Connor. "Here. This is the 'nothing' that I had to say."

And with that, he stormed out.


	10. Nothing

Dear Connor,

Jesus Christ, I don't even know where to begin. I don't think I could describe how I'm feeling right now.

Like shit. That's the closest I can get.

You were right – then again, you were always right – we went too fast. And I know that's my fault for pushing too hard. I was too impatient for this. I've always been too impatient, and you're the only one who's ever been able to tolerate me for that.

It was so surreal, you know, the moment you got hit. I couldn't believe it, because you're Connor fucking MacManus, and you're supposed to be fucking invincible. I mean, you always have been.

Like in seventh grade, when you saved me from getting the shit kicked out of me by that gang.

Or that car crash, junior year, that you walked away from without so much as a scratch on you.

Or every fucking time since then we've ever done anything dangerous – you've always come out on top.

I could blame myself, you know – the bullet that hit you was the one that missed me. But I know you wouldn't want me to do that – I can just imagine you lecturing me, like you do every time I do something stupid.

Like get in fights with gangs or crash the car.

Yea, I get into some really dumb shit don't I? But you've always been there to bail me out, and then go out for shots after. Jesus, who am I gonna drink with now?

I find myself doubting, Connor, and I know I can't do that. I mean, what we do, it's all in the name of God, and I know we're doing right. But still. You see, I didn't really tell you, but I've been having these doubts for a while now. I mean, Rocco, and now you.

If what we're doing is all for God, then how could He just take you away from me like that?

That sounds selfish. But it's for you, too. You had the greatest heart of anybody I have ever met, like it's made of pure gold. You didn't deserve a death like that. Jesus, you're a better person than most of the people in Boston together, myself included.

Holy shit, what am I gonna tell Ma and Da?

I swear, Connor, I am going to find every last mother fucker involved and make them pay for this. I owe you that, and much, much more, for every time you've saved my life.

I'm not sure I know how to be just Murphy. I mean, it's always been 'Connor and Murphy'. You're more than my brother, much more than my twin, you're a part of me. A big part, judging by the sizable hole your death life in me.

Your death. Jesus, those are strange words. I can't even… fuck, I smudged the words. I don't even remember the last time I cried, Connor. No… Rocco. That was it. And that was over a year ago… God, now I just can't stop.

Rocco's gone, now you're gone, and it's just me.

It's funny… you're still the only one I could ever talk to about something like this. I mean, I could bring this up with anyone else, and they'd spout something like you'll always be with me in my heart, or that you're in a better place, or some other cliché shit like that. I mean, I know that, I guess. It's just not the point. It's different.

I stayed with Smecker, that night, just because he wanted to make sure I was okay. I was still numb then. But then I went home, and it really hit me. Our tiny little apartment seems so fucking huge now.

Remember, that morning, you chewed me out for not making my bed, and leaving everything all over the place? Yours is still one hundred percent perfect. Just seeing those hospital corners made me break down.

I miss you, Connor. You're the closest person I've ever had, my brother, my twin, my best friend.

I don't know how I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna have to live without you… I'll have to find out who Murphy is outside of 'the MacManus brothers'. That scares me, Connor. That scares me more than anything we've ever been up against.

I don't think I can do it, Connor. I don't think I can walk into church tomorrow and openly accept that you're gone, and that you're not coming back. I have to, but I just… can't.

I love you, Connor, more than anything in the fucking world.

Murphy

* * *

**Just gonna throw it out there... I cried while I was writing this.**


	11. Something

After reading the letter, Connor felt like a truck had slammed him into a brick wall.

His whole body was trembling – his hands, his lips, his legs – so bad he needed to sit down to prevent falling to his knees.

The only thing going through his head was static – undefined, incomprehensible static, punctuated frequently by a curse or two.

He had guessed Murphy wouldn't have much to say – after all, he wasn't exactly the eloquent type – but this letter…

_Holy shit_, Connor thought. _I'm actually _crying.

Jesus Christ, did he fuck up.

He knew he and Murphy were close, closer than brothers or even twins usually were, but Murphy had taken that feeling and put words to it. Connor had never been able to do that – hell, he'd been too scared to try.

The sheer magnitude of how he'd hurt the person who meant the most to him in the entire world felt like it was going to smite him into the ground. He felt like such shit, he almost begged it to.

After around twenty minutes, Connor felt stable enough to stand, and he set out to find his brother. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

Murphy wasn't at the apartment – that would be far too easy.

He wasn't at the church, though that was another long shot.

He wasn't walking in the fens, like they often did together on Sundays, just to feel serenity in their chaotic lives.

He wasn't at their bench in the commons, where they sat and reminisced about Ireland, and how American grass didn't even compare to the green back home.

He wasn't even in any of the bars they had ever been to, and Connor was almost sure he would have been at one of them, doing what he did best whenever he was heated up about something.

It was times like these when Connor was usually the only one who could get Murphy to calm down, to come back to Earth, and remember that it was okay to forgive and forget. But this time, Connor was the thing Murphy was heated up about, and it would probably take a lot more than a few minutes coaxing and a few shots to bring him back.

Hell, Murphy probably considered Connor dead to him, anyway.

It was late, when he finally found him – nearing midnight. But Connor would never have guessed that Murphy would be at his twin's fake grave.

Murphy was standing absolutely still, hands in his pockets, staring intently at the plain headstone, the cavernous hole in the ground, the now obviously empty gleaming casket.

As riled up as he could get sometimes, with enough blood alcohol content and provocation, Murphy was the one who could sometimes be mistaken for a statue. Connor, always the fidgety one, was almost too scared to approach his twin.

Murphy heard Connor's footsteps, but didn't turn around. He let his twin stop a few feet behind him. It was minutes before either of them spoke.

"I'm sorry, Murph." The words spilled out without warning. "I am so, so sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn't have done it."

Connor winced at the frailty of the words, the seemingly insincerity. Murphy had poured his heart out into that beautiful letter, and here he couldn't conjure up a measly apology.

"Jesus, I was an idiot to think that would work. I mean, well, it did work, but that was much too high a price to take down a stupid mobster. I don't know how I let Smecker talk me into this. I risked losing you, and that's probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. Much stupider than all your antics."

Murphy finally moved, turning around to face his brother. His pale blue eyes pierced right through Connor's chest, but he didn't say anything.

Connor winced again. "I know, you probably don't believe me. I mean, I wouldn't believe me. I had absolutely no right to do what I did, really. I mean… that's almost like playing God." Both twins crossed themselves reverently. Connor continued. "And that's not right, not right at all. I mean, even worse than spiritually… brotherly. Twenty eight years together…. I can't even imagine how you could feel, that I could toss that aside so easily, just to be the stupid fucking hero."

Jesus Christ, Connor hated himself right about then.

"I know, you probably won't forgive me. I don't see how you could. I wouldn't. I mean, what I did… probably one of the worst things I could do to you. Jesus, so much for my 'heart of gold'." He gave a shaky laugh. "More like a heart of dirt, huh?

"And what you said… about being half of the MacManus brothers. You were so right. I mean, you're right more often than you think you are. But I honestly cannot believe how I could leave you to be half of us, just leaving my empty shell on you…. shit, how could I do that to you? I know I could never be just Connor, without Murphy… I couldn't, and I would never want to…. how on Earth could I put you through that kind of hell? Jesus Christ, Murph, that was so awful of me, I can't believe I fucking did that.

"I'm an idiot, I was so beyond wrong, I was selfish, I was arrogant… I should never have put any of that above you. You're worth so much more to me than being a hero. I shouldn't have let that blind me. I never meant to hurt you, I would never… I could never willingly sacrifice you, ad my brother, my twin, or…" Connor swallowed hard to choke back tears. "…the best and fucking most important person I've ever known in my life."

Try as he might, one tear slipped down his cheek, landing with a silent _splash_ that was so loud, Connor was sure Murphy had heard it.

"I just want you to know, that even though I was a complete jackass, and I understand if you can't just let that go…. I love you, Murphy. I always have, and I'll never stop."

He turned to walk away, but his legs couldn't seem to find the willpower to leave the cemetery. _Maybe this is where I belong_, Connor thought glumly.

The lightest of touches, just inside his elbow, sent a cold shiver coursing over his body. He turned slowly and made eye contact with his twin.

Murphy's eyes had softened into the velvety blue that they really were – not clouded by anger, or humiliation, or distrust – radiating the real Murphy, the one Connor prided himself on knowing, being related to, and just hanging around with.

Connor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Murphy grinned his shy, floating smile.

As the brothers embraced, they both knew that there was nothing in the entire world that could ever throw them apart, and that normal words just couldn't cover how they felt about each other. There was just absolutely nothing to say.


End file.
